Pretty Pink Ribbons (15 page)

I WILL NOT CRY.

I will not cry.

Dang it.

Tears burn hot behind my eyes and despite my silent pleas to keep them away, I just can’t. The water from the shower is pouring off my body and I just stand and let it all out. I can’t fight my emotions anymore. I can’t hold everything in. I’ve been on the verge of tears all weekend and it’s been pissing me off.

I should be happy and optimistic. My first treatment went off without a hitch and I feel pretty good, if you don’t count the extreme fatigue that is plaguing me despite having slept for ten hours last night. I have no nausea, no vomiting, and yet I feel like I’m dying on the inside. Oh wait . . . that’s because I am.

The thought of dying is what does it—it’s what finally pushes those tears past the confines of my lashes. And this time, I let it. I let it consume me. I let it own me in hopes that purging it from my system now will give me a renewed strength to fight it later. Wrapping my arms around my stomach, I fold my body in two. Tears race down my face, emotion crawls up my throat and a loud sob rips from my lungs.

I can’t believe this is happening.

I don’t want to die.

I’m not ready to die.

I have way too many things that I still want to do in life, like get married, and have babies, and grandbabies, and travel to Italy . . . or better yet, Paris. I want to kiss my husband atop the Eiffel tower under a blanket of stars. I want to go whale-watching off the coast of Alaska, ride in a hot-air balloon over a reserve in Africa, and make love on the beaches of Bora Bora.

For the first time, it hits me that I may not
ever
get the chance to do those things. I’ve thought about dying, but only in the abstract. I’ve never actually thought about all of the things that I could potentially miss out on.

My trembling hands ball into fists and I pray for the strength to make it through this.
If I can just make it through this.

Stay positive.

Think good thoughts.

That’s what the nurse told me.

“Good morning, Laney.” Her smile is way too bright for an oncology unit, if you ask me, but I suppose there’s a reason for that. “My name is Heather, and I’m going to get you started.” I follow behind her, but I don’t talk. She leads me into a small private room that has a hospital bed, one of those really uncomfortable hospital recliner chairs and a TV. An IV pole sits in the corner and I look away, trying to ignore the bags of clear fluid that are already hanging from the metal hooks. “First treatments can be emotional, so everyone gets the option of having theirs in private. You’re more than welcome to receive your treatment out on the floor with the rest of the patients, if you’d like. It’s completely up to you.”

“This is fine,” I mumble. Heather smiles and pats my arm.

“I can’t imagine how scary this must be for you, but we’re going to make it as painless as possible. Feel free to take your shoes off and relax, make yourself comfortable. Most patients prefer to sit up in the chair, but you’re going to be here for several hours so if you’d prefer to, you can lie in the bed.”

I kick my shoes off and sit in the chair, the tight plastic squeaking when I work to make myself comfortable . . . as if somehow sitting a certain way could manage to accomplish that. “Is there someone here with you today?” I nod my head. Luke, Mia and Benny are all sitting not-so-patiently in the waiting room. They’re like a bunch of mother hens that wouldn’t take no for an answer, but it warms my heart to know that they all cared enough to want to be here with me. My mind drifts to Levi. I wonder if he would’ve wanted to be here with me . . . had he known. “Once we get you hooked up and started, I’ll be sure and get them for you.”

“There’s three of them.” I laugh, and Heather looks at me and smiles. “I tried to convince them that I’d be fine, but they insisted on coming. I don’t know why,” I say with a shrug. “I have no idea what they’re going to do for the next five hours.”

“Support you.”

“Huh?”

“That’s what they’re going to do for the next five hours. They’re going to support you. Believe it or not, this is usually just as hard on the loved ones as it is on the patients themselves. They need to know they can help out, even if it’s just in the form of support.” I look away, tears pricking the back of my eyes. She’s right. I never really thought about what this is doing to them. I shouldn’t be so hard on them for hovering. “Let them, okay?” I look back at the petite nurse, who seems to be imploring me to do as she says with her eyes more so than her words. “I see a lot of patients come and go, and some of them do this completely by themselves. No loved ones to sit by them or encourage them or hold their hand when they’re scared or sick, and I can’t imagine how that would feel. So let them. Let them worry about you. Let them sit here for five hours and watch this drip into your arm.” She points to the IV bag. I’m thankful Heather told me that. I needed to hear it. “They’re doing it because they love you and they’re scared.” I give her a tremulous smile and she nods. “Okay then. What do you say we get this started? Are you ready to get your first treatment out of the way?”

“Let’s do it.”

And I did.

With three nervous Nellies hovering around me and asking a ton of questions, I did it. It wasn’t at all what I expected either. It didn’t hurt. I had a small wave of nausea hit shortly after it started, but they gave me some ‘extra stuff’ in my IV that stopped that.

Benny and Mia handled things pretty well—under the circumstances, anyway—but Luke’s reaction just about broke me. The look on his face told me everything I needed to know about what this was doing to my baby brother. Eyes wide and glossy, he shoved the emesis basin at me right before he stood up and walked out the door. I wanted to go after him and assure him I was fine, but I couldn’t. Not only was I unable to get out of the chair but also because I wasn’t fine.

Luke came back after a couple of minutes and didn’t say a word. He simply pushed his chair as close to mine as he could get it, wrapped my hand in his and didn’t move until my treatment was over. He never said anything about it, but I can’t help but wonder if he’s worried about losing me the way we lost our mom.

I know I need to stay strong for them, the people who love me endlessly, but I also need to stay strong for myself. I can’t let myself get wrapped up in the
what ifs.
Because when I allow them in, even just a little bit, they take over and my mind shoots off into a thousand different directions. I have to stay strong. I
can
do this. Pushing the fear away, I regain control of my emotions.

I will be fine.

I will survive this.

Squeezing my facial cleanser into my hands, I rub them together and lather up my face, washing away my tears and insecurities. With precise, habitual movements, I wash my hair, shave my legs and then step out of the shower before wrapping myself in a towel. Pulling open the bottom drawer of my vanity, I reach for my blow dryer and then stop, my hand hovering in the air. My hair is a pain in the butt to blow dry; it’s long and it takes forever. Maybe I should get it cut, something cute and spunky. It’s going to fall out anyway, so I might as well try something new in the process, right?

I make quick work of applying my makeup, paying special attention to the dark circles under my eyes, and then I slip into my work clothes. Pulling open the door, I come face to face with Mia and Benny. They’re both leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom and they’re watching me expectantly.

“What the heck are you guys doing?”

“Were you crying?” Leave it to Mia to just put it out there. It’s not like I value my privacy or anything.

“No.” Scurrying past them, I keep my head down. Mia can tell if I’m lying from a mile away.

Benny’s hand shoots out, stopping my bedroom door before I’m able to slam it shut. “Bullshit. We heard you.”

“You heard my iPod. I wasn’t crying. Why would I be crying?”

“Maybe because—” Mia trails off and looks at Benny. She’s scared to say it.

“Because I had my first chemo treatment? Because I’m scared? Or maybe because I’m so exhausted I feel like I could crawl back into bed and hibernate for a week.” She looks back at me and I hate the sadness I see in her eyes.

“Yes. Because of that,” she whispers.

“Look . . .” Pulling them both into my room, I push them down on the bed so they’re sitting in front of me. “I appreciate what you guys are doing, but you’ve got to stop hovering. I need you to stop treating me like I’m a vintage porcelain doll and I could break with the slightest touch.”

“But we love you, and we want you to be okay.”

“I know you do, Mia, and I’m going to be okay. But I’m also going to have bad days. There are going to be times when I cry, and there will probably be times when I get angry, but there’s nothing you can do about it. One way or the other, it’s going to happen. I’ve accepted it and you have to accept it.” My eyes flit between Mia, who looks like she wants to hug me, and Benny, who looks about as uncomfortable as a nun in a strip joint.

Kneeling down, I drag my shoes out from under my bed and slip them on. “I’m tough, remember?” Hopping onto my feet, I flex my arms, giving my best ‘strong man’ impression. Benny reaches out and squeezes my bicep and immediately busts out laughing. I slap his arm then kiss both of them on the cheek and walk out, impressed with how well I handled that.

“Wait!” Mia’s feet are slapping against the hardwood floor as she scurries after me. “Where are you going?”

“Work.”

Benny strides up and stands behind Mia. “You don’t have to be there for another couple of hours.” I shrug, smiling at what I’m about to do.

“I’ve got something to take care of first.” Grabbing my purse off the coffee table, I swing it over my shoulder and fling open the door. “See ya!”

“You haven’t even done your hair,” Mia hollers after me, and as I climb into my car, I swear I hear her tell Benny that I’ve lost my mind.

“Laney?” I turn around slowly to find Levi standing behind me. His eyes look like they’re on fire, and I’m trying to gauge if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I’m hoping it’s good.

“Yes?”

“She looks fucking hot, doesn’t she?” Tatum smiles wickedly and props her elbows up on the bar. “I’ve been hittin’ on her all day, but she’s having no part of it.” Today I had to work the lunch shift, which was crazy busy. The restaurant closes at three and then reopens at five for dinner. At the end of my shift, I made a plate of French fries and Toasted Ravioli and joined Tatum at the bar. I’ve been working on my bucket list and stuffing my face with food while she cleans and restocks the bar.

Levi flashes me a knowing smile and—holy mother of God—I think my panties just melted. He’s probably remembering our kiss from the other night and knows exactly why I’m not giving Tatum the time of day—apart from the fact that she’s attracted to women and I’m attracted to men.

“It looks good.” He clarifies by pointing to my hair. “You look different.”

“Different good or different bad?” I decided to go for a tapered stack. I’ve always loved that look on girls—the one where it’s longer in the front and shorter in the back. I was just always too scared to do it.